Dreamer Deceiver
by Steffykaye
Summary: Dean battles his dreams. This story is loosely based on the Judas Priest song Dreamer Deceiver


**Dreamer Deceiver**

A Supernatural fan ficlet by Steffykaye

Rating: PG-13/R

Genre: Horror/Angst

Pairing: None

Author's Note: This short fan fiction is loosely based on the Judas Priest song, "Dreamer Deceiver." It takes place pre-pilot after John leaves but before Dean goes to get Sam.

Disclaimer: John, Dean, Sam, and Mary Winchester are not my creations. The plot however is entirely my own.

JUDAS PRIEST LYRICS - DREAMER DECEIVER

Standing by my window, breathing summer breeze

Saw a figure floating, 'neath the willow tree

Asked us if we were happy, we said we didn't know

Took us by the hands and up we go

We followed the dreamer through the purple hazy clouds

He could control our sense of time

We thought we were lost but no matter how we tried

Everyone was in peace of mind

We felt the sensations drift inside our frames

Finding complete contentment there

And all the tensions that hurt us in the past

Just seemed to vanish in thin air

He said in the cosmos is a single sonic sound

That is vibrating constantly

And if we could grip and hold on to the note

We would see our minds were free...oh they're free

We are lost above

Floating way up high

If you think you can find a way

You can surely try

Dean laid in bed and stared up at the ceiling. For the first time in his life, he didn't know what to do. Everything that he knew had fallen apart around him. Sam was gone. Dean was now accustomed to that, although the thought of his brother's desertion was still able to set a knife of hurt twisting in his soul. He could deal with it, he had been dealing with it for years. But now it seemed like Dad was gone too. At first it hadn't seemed like anything unusual. Dad went his way and sent Dean in another direction. It was the way they had started working things after Sam left. Covered more ground that way. Dean was used to waking up in some characterless motel with nothing more than a cryptic note from his father left in that journal of his. When that happened Dean had learned to stay put and wait for John to contact him. This time though, there had been no word, no note, no contact of any kind.

Dean cursed under his breath and rose quickly off the bed, running his fingers through his hair.

'This moping thing isn't getting anything done,' he thought as he started pacing the room. He thought about trying to call John again, but he had left so many messages already. Instead he pulled a box from the other bed and opened it. Inside was his latest creation. An EMF meter that he was making out of an old walkman. There wasn't much that made him feel calmer than working with his hands.

A sly grin crossed his face as he thought about all the different ways he liked to_work_ with his hands. Mental pictures of all the women he had loved and left flashed before his eyes, causing the grin to become a full smile. Shaking his head to clear it, he got back to work.

Several hours later as he put the finishing touches on his creation, Dean finally looked up and realized that he had not eaten since breakfast. His stomach grumbled angrily at him. He grabbed his wallet off the nightstand and grimaced. Food would have to wait. He needed to _earn _some more money first.

Ten minutes later, Dean sauntered into the tavern he had seen on his way into town. He inhaled the mingled odors of sweat, smoke, and stale beer and smiled. 'Now this is home,' he thought as he made his way to the bar. Catching the bartender's attention he ordered a beer and then made his way to the pool tables in the back. He leaned casually against the wall and watched the games going on in front of him. Quickly, almost effortlessly, he summed up the people playing and settled on his mark. A wiry, very inebriated man who was harassing the people playing with him.

Dean challenged the man to a game and quickly got to work on him, using all of his sarcastic wit to push the man enough to keep upping the bets, and his considerable pool skills to bilk the man out of sixty dollars.

'Not a bad haul for an hour's work,' Dean thought. He downed his beer and since he didn't want to go home ordered another one, and another. Ordering his fourth beer, he raised it in a silent toast to his father. John had always harped on not getting drunk and how dangerous it was for people in _their line of work_ .

He grimaced as he felt the hand clamp on his shoulder and had time to think that Dad was right, before the fist plowed into the side of his face. He had made the mistake and stayed in the bar long enough for the mark to build up enough courage to come after him. Shaking his head to clear it, he ducked the next blow and crashed his beer bottle against the base of his attacker's neck, knocking him out.

As the bartender approached, Dean held up his hand.

"I'm leaving, don't worry," he said and walked quickly out of the bar.

Back at the hotel, Dean prepared an ice pack and pressed it against his bruised and swollen face. He grimaced at the taste as he dry swallowed four over the counter painkillers. He was out of the good stuff, and after the beer he had consumned, he wouldn't have taken them anyway.

Dean grinned. 'Not a bad night's work,' he thought. 'Finishing my EMF, making some money and getting into a bar fight, Dad would be so proud!'

Dean decided that he had burned off enough nervous energy to try and sleep.

After making sure the room was secure and that his trusty knife was safely tucked under his pillow, he laid down, and turned on some music to drown out the thoughts circling in his head.

Just as he drifted off, he heard 'Dreamer Deceiver' come on. For some reason that song always made him think of his mother. He sighed and with vague, half forgotten images of Mary flooding his mind, slipped into sleep.

The creature stood and watched the young man sleep. It grinned as the lights flickered, the room's temperature dropped by ten degrees, and a series of beeps emitted from the box on the other bed. It reached down, placing it's cold hands on the young man's face. Red light pulsed from it's fingertips as it entered Dean's mind and dreams.

In his dreams, Dean saw his mother. She was standing just out of his grasp but he could see her clearly. She looked better than he remembered. It seemed like even as a very young child he could sense a sadness in her, but as he looked at her now, it was gone. Instantly a thousand little memories rushed him. The smell of her hair when she would hug him. The sound of her voice as she read to him at night. The gentleness of her kiss on his forehead right before she said goodnight. The lilting sound of her voice when she would call him 'Spanky," because she said he reminded her of the character from 'Little Rascals.' The way her eyes sparkled with pride over every little thing that he did. He still could not look at the sky on a clear, cloudless day without remembering the intense blue color of his mother's eyes. But these memories were more intense, more vivid than the weakened ones he normally had. He wanted to stay there forever. Seeing and remembering his mother. She hadn't chosen to leave him like the rest of his family had.

The creature smiled, an expression that on it's twisted, malformed face looked like a hideous grimace. It's plan was working. Soon it would have the eldest brother out of the way and the last line of defense for it's true target would be gone.

Mary reached her hand out to Dean, urging him to move towards her. "Dean, my darling son, how often I have longed to see you again. If it had not been for Sam, I could still be right there with you instead of watching you grow up through your dreams." She stepped forward, lifting her hand to caress his face. "Oh, my boy. You've become so controlled. Where is that little boy whose merry laugh rang through our house? You've had to be the strong one for so long. I am the only one that realizes how much you need care and comfort too. Stay with me."

Dean closed his eyes. He missed his mother. He wanted to stay so badly that the longing felt like a living thing inside him. Never once since losing his mother had he felt so safe, so protected, so loved as he did right now. The chains of responsibility and duty that held him to the life he had been forced into weakened even more as he thought of how Sam and now John had left him.

"That's right, darling boy. Stay with me. I miss you too. I want to be there for you, to hold you when you cry and pick you up when you fall."

Tears trickled down Dean's face. He desperately wanted to stay, but he was worried about the rest of the family. Even though they had left him, the thoughts of them being unprotected were too worrisome to him.

"Dean, I know this is going to hurt you, but I have to tell you something. John Winchester is not your father. You are my son from before I met him. He never loved you as a son. Why do you think he allowed you to go hunting with him but wouldn't allow Sam? He wanted to protect Sam. He didn't care enough about you to worry about putting you in harm's way. I know it hurts Spanky, but it pains me to see you waste so much emotion on someone that cares nothing for you."

Dean struggled for consciousness, something was wrong. He knew John was his biological father because they had some tests run a couple years ago when it looked like he would need a bone marrow transplant. Turned out to be a paranormal entity causing John to be sick, but Dean had been a near perfect match for him.

The creature screamed in rage as it's plan was foiled. It broke the connection and pulled back from the bed. As it began to disappear, it screamed again, this time in agony. It looked down to see the handle of a knife sticking out of it's chest and burst into consumning flames, leaving a small scorch mark on the floor.

Dean sat on the bed, shivering, smelling sulfur, burnt carpet, and the bitter tang of betrayal. He feared that now he would never truly know how many of the sweet memories of his mother were real. After Sam left, it was the memories of his mother that had kept him sane. Now those had been defiled by the creature he had just killed. He drew his knees up and rested his head on them, unconsciously rubbing his hand across his heart as if that would somehow alleviate the grief swelling up in him.

"I've got to find, Dad," he said. The sound of his own voice breaking the deep silence startled him, but he knew that it was true. He had to find his father. He needed to know the full story behind his mother's death. Feeling something wet against his leg, he realized he was crying. He knew he was close to breaking, he would never be able to search for his father alone.

"I guess it's time to go get Sam."

_fin_


End file.
